


Home by Sunrise

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars Saucy Sides [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Angst, Non-Explicit Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Rex and Bacara reunite.  It affects Bacara far more than he expected.  Rex holds him together.Mature.  Based on the Soft Wars universe.  May not make sense without context.
Relationships: CC-1138 | Bacara/CT-7567 | Rex
Series: Soft Wars Saucy Sides [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701715
Comments: 29
Kudos: 205





	Home by Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> So this didn't want to stay fluffy. Like AT ALL. So here have an angsty plotty saucy side that def gets less of the first two and more of the last as we go along

Bacara arches deep into Rex’s clever hands like a traditional bow in the hold of a master. He comes so hard he loses whole seconds.

Before his vision clears, long before his breath steadies, humiliation burns through the pleasure like a brand in his gut. He’s ruined these blacks, he knows, like a shiny with no control. There are worse words that chase themselves through the deep parts of his mind but he refuses to give them any more hold than they have already.

Rex blocks him in before he can rouse himself to move.

“Are you okay,” he demands, quiet and insistent. He presses Bacara back and against the bulkhead, uses his own body to ensure Bacara has no leverage to escape. “Bacara talk to me. Tat1. Are you okay?”

Bacara laughs, rough and insincere. Rex must be more than just a little worried; usually his manipulations are more subtle. “I’m fine,” he lies. He’s trembling, so finely that maybe Rex won’t notice. “I’m fine.”

Rex notices, of course he does. He runs brisk hands up and down Bacara’s upper arms as if he suffers from a chill that that could warm.

“ _Talk_ to me Bacara,” he pleads.

“I’m fine,” Bacara insists. He’d be more convincing if his voice wasn’t thickening alarmingly. “It’s just been a while.”

It’s been a while, and today has been a lot. More, Bacara has just found out, than he could handle.

Commander Cody, no the Vod’alor2. Bacara’s ‘alor, now, because Bacara’s sworn to him. And in exchange the ‘alor has sworn to bring the 21st home. He’s sworn on his honor and his blood that Bacara’s men will never again be forced into exile, forced to battle alone, worlds and systems away from any brothers.

Bacara hadn’t thought he’d needed to fall apart then. He hadn’t known how deep relief had sunk into his bones. He hadn’t even realized he’d compartmentalized that well.

“How long?” There’s a terrible knowing in Rex’s voice. Pity and guilt, and Bacara had never intended to bring either of them with him to Rex tonight. “Bacara. How long has it been?”

“Three years,” Bacara admits. Three years on the front lines. Three years since any of Bacara’s Novas has seen a brother other than themselves. Three years of them slowly being whittled down in far flung battlefields. Three years of wondering if, when the last Nova falls, if there would be any left among the Vode who’d still know any of their names for Remembrances.

Three years, since Bacara last held Rex.

Rex shakes, his voice is mixed anger and regret. “You _promised_ ,” he breathes hot against Bacara’s chest. His fingers are bloodless and white where they burrow into Bacara’s arm. “ _You promised_ you’d find someone. One of your brothers-”

“Any Nova would be willing,” Bacara cuts him off. He doesn’t ever want Rex to think he went back on his word. He doesn’t want Rex to ferment that guilt in his eyes that he _had_ found someone, while Bacara hadn’t. “If I asked, any one of them would have agreed. Saluted. Reported to my bunk promptly as ordered.”

As ordered.

And that meant Bacara couldn’t ever ask. Refused to, even while he encouraged his Novas to find comfort in each other.

It meant that, even when they piled together on the floor in the middle of barracks in a platonic desperation for connection, Bacara chose to stand back. To stand watch, so his Novas could find a few quiet moments of rest.

Rex’s grip is the grounding kind of hurt, the kind of hurt that means that someone else hurts for him.

That, he regrets. Rex doesn’t deserve the kind of hurt Bacara carries.

“Tat’ka3,” Bacara soothes, but Rex only burrows deeper into his chest, as if Bacara had threatened to pull away. “We’re coming home. With you. He’s bringing us home, this will never happen again.”

Krester is in a bunk shaking apart between two Ghosts. Rothax and Daan were given a bunk to share, bodily blocked from sight by a third Ghost. They’re still in Ghost’s barracks, under Ghost’s guarding eye. The Vod’alor only let Bacara leave because he’d sworn he was going to find Rex.

Bacara only left because his Novas that had come with him needed something more than what he could give. He left because the Novas he's left out in the field won't even get that much.

He knows better than to put any of that on Rex.

“It’s not okay,” he says, because continuing to lie will get neither of them anywhere. “But now it has a chance to get better.”

Rex kisses like it’s a battle. He kisses like he could cut every lonely second away, every moment of want or longing that went unfulfilled. He kisses like he could burn every hurt out from under Bacara’s skin.

“Let me take care of you,” he demands.

Bacara laughs sadly against his lips, their foreheads pressed like he knows always calms Rex. “I don’t have another one in me,” he admits. He came like a shiny, but he doesn’t recover like one.

“Let me _take care of you_. Let me find out what that needs to be. Please.”

There was never any doubt that Bacara would give Rex anything he asked for.

Rex strips him gently. Not… not gingerly, not as if he would break. But Rex keeps a hand on him at all times as he peels him out of his blacks, presses quiet kisses to flesh as it is exposed.

He remembers Bacara’s scars, knows which ones are new.

When he cleans him, it’s with such care that Bacara can’t barely manage to be embarrassed. “Tat’ka,” he moans in half-hearted protest, already subsiding before Rex shushes him. Bacara’s painfully sensitive, but Rex’s hands move so soft he doesn’t even twitch away.

“I’m a little flattered,” Rex admits after he’s whisked the cloth and clothes somewhere Bacara can’t even smell them.

“Don’t get used to it,” Bacara grunts toothlessly. Rex smiles that smile, the one that melts years and battles off his face until it’s the same as when he first flashed that smile under Bacara’s hand in an ARC training room. It’s the smile that says he _knows_ Bacara would do anything for him.

Bacara would. He also knows Rex would never ask him for anything that would humiliate him.

“I won’t,” he promises. “But I think we’ll need to talk at some point, when we’re both centered. I really like knowing how much you want me.”

More than air, sometimes, but that’s not the sort of thing Bacara would say. They’ll find some way that they’re both comfortable with, that Bacara can show Rex that. But that’s later.

It’s a different sort of feeling, kissing, touching, with no end goal. When Rex slides out of his own blacks and curls his body around Bacara’s, it’s for nothing more than the touch itself. It’s the comfort of skin on skin, instead of a promise of climax. Rex’s lips at Bacara’s shoulder promise nothing more than an oncoming press of teeth to his bicep. And that promises nothing more than another kiss.

When Bacara reaches for him, Rex presses his hands to his back, his shoulders. He wants Bacara to hold, but not worry about exploring. Rex wants this moment to be about Bacara.

Bacara is shaking again.

“That’s it,” Rex murmurs. There’s no pattern to where he’ll touch. His hands will stroke up Bacara’s sides, then one will knead at the meat of his thigh. He’ll press a kiss to Bacara’s knee and follow it with one to his chin. Bacara can’t track, can’t anticipate.

He doesn’t remember when he closed his eyes.

“You don’t need to watch,” Rex soothes. “But I want you to stay with me. Let me know when you drift. I’ll pull you back. I have you.”

“Kiss me?” Bacara pleads. He’s never asked before. Rex starts with the barest brush of lip on lip, slowly growing firmer.

If that is the only thing Bacara gets, he could be happy.

When Rex pulls Bacara’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugs the barest ‘I’m here’ before releasing it with only the ghost of a memory of touch, Bacara breathes out a rush of tension. His arms fall away to his sides, his legs fall open to some natural position. Rex lowers his whole weight along Bacara’s body. It’s a grounding press, not crushing. Rex, like most brothers, are built slight in comparison to Marines.

“There,” Rex says. “I like that. Do you want me to kiss you again?”

“Please.”

Rex’s hands steady his head for him. Their kiss explores just behind their lips, barely enough to share air. Again and again, not leading any further, not dipping any deeper. Rex’s thumbs circle high on Bacara’s cheekbones, his fingers press the same circles just inside the edge of Bacara’s hair line, right under the round of his skull. The world dark behind Bacara’s eyelids goes quiet at the corners.

“Drifting,” he mutters.

“ _Good_. Good, thank you Bacara.” Smooth as chocolate, dark as caf.

Rex doesn’t have to do anything else to pull him back. Bacara snaps back into his head, into his place safe between Rex’s hands in a second. His next breath trembles with a half a sob. His eyes fly wide open, the room seeming suddenly brighter than before.

When did he learn _that_?

Rex’s smile is unmistakable against Bacara’s mouth. “I thought you’d like that.” Bacara swallows, nods. “I like it too. I think you deserve to hear it.”

Bacara almost can’t listen. Couldn’t, if the voice Rex uses wasn’t as compelling as it is.

Between them, Bacara’s hardening. Rex has been hard for a while.

“I have you,” Rex rumbles into his ear, against his jaw, under his chin. “It’s okay. You don’t have to come again if you don’t want to. I’m going to keep you just like this. I want your mind quiet, I want your body soft under me. Will you lose that, do you think? If I work you up again?”

“I don’t know.” Bacara doesn’t want to lose this dark, warm moment for anything. He’s spent… spent a long time, wanting to be back holding Rex, back in bed with Rex. That’s all he wants.

“Okay. Okay, then can I tell you what I’d like.”

“Yes please.”

Rex rewards him with another kiss, light and undemanding.

“I want to keep you like this, quiet but with me. I’d like to try holding you here for a while, just until I think you’ve let go of as much tension as possible. Then I’d like to ease you down until you can sleep. If we can do that just like this, then I will. If I think you’re getting too worked up for that, I’ll take care of it. Alright? I’ll have you come one more time, and then we’ll go back to working down to sleep. I will have you the whole way.”

That’s… Bacara melts into Rex’s pillows, another muscle he hadn’t known was still tense unwinding. There’s nothing there that he has to be in charge of, no decision he has to make after this one.

“Please,” he breathes. Rex smiles like a Coruscant sunrise, like Bacara’s given him everything he’s been wanting for the past three years.

“Thank you,” he says, as if its his gift and not Bacara’s.

Bacara’s eyes drift closed to the sound of full promises and the drift Rex’s hands ephemeral across his chest.

_I have you. I won’t let go._

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. (Journeyman Protector dialect) Brother. Back  
> 2\. (Author-derived) Clan head of the Vode. From Vode - Brothers; and Alor - Chief, head, as of a clan. Back  
> 3\. (Journeyman Protector dialect) Little Brother. Back  
> 


End file.
